


Quite Possibly A Little Deluded

by thousandmonkeys



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: (or both joined together who knows), Actors AU, And theres literally no resolution yay :), Gen, M/M, Phantom of the Opera AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2842214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thousandmonkeys/pseuds/thousandmonkeys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an experimental staging of the famed Phantom of the Opera, Kaneki Ken is Christine Daae. And he seems to have attracted the attention of a jealous admirer–much like the woman he plays. Phantom of the Opera/Actors AU, of a sort.<br/>Gift for fudanshi-kun/backwardElagabalus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quite Possibly A Little Deluded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [backwardElagabalus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/backwardElagabalus/gifts).



** PROLUGUE—Overture**

_“Do you know which actor is playing the Phantom?”_

_“Oh, I heard it’s a good to honest_ count! _A real philanthropist.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Oh yes! He donated a good sum to the theatre for the role, or so they say.”_

_“No, no, that can’t be it. Titled men wouldn’t deign to act in the theatre. It must the true phantom!”_

_“You idiot. Have you been reading those cheap paperbacks again? It’s probably a marketing ploy.”_

 

 _“Speaking of marketing, how well do you think an all-male cast is going to go over? Even if we_ are  _an Elizabethan troupe—how the hell is Kaneki Ken suited to the role of Christine?”_

 

* * *

 

**ACT I:**

 

* * *

 

i) Think of Me

 

Far below, a lone figure on the empty stage, the dark-haired man was singing again. His clear, unwavering, voice filled the auditorium as if there was an audience that he, and he alone could see.

Up in one of the many alcoves, a masked figure—probably trespassing, given the time of night—slid silently out from behind a heavy curtain. No click of heels nor shuffling of feet heralded his approach. The theater’s sheer height made it easy for the man to observe, unseen; the reverse, too, applied. The singer was no more than a dark blot on the stage, stark against the pale wood.

Tsukiyama hummed, drumming his fingers in annoyance as the music abruptly stopped, and narrowed his eyes to better see the lone figure on stage.

Kaneki Ken. Newest tenor of the theater troupe, and placed into the unenviable position of Christine Daaé –if only because of the alleged curse on the position. Some places spoke of the Scottish Play as taboo; this troupe in particular had never performed the Phantom of the Opera in its short existence. Apparently the one time the establishment had tried to host it, there was a disaster involving frogs, broken lighting, and repeated visits to the hospital.

And now: the distraction, sauntering in with an easy gait—that must be the actor meant to play Raoul. Fair-haired and a smile so wide that Tsukiyama himself could almost see it, never mind the binoculars. From the familiarity that the two were displaying—it seemed like the pair knew each other. How… _fortunate_. Theatrical, almost.

Maybe this opera would turn out better than the others.

 

* * *

ii) Angel of Music

  _“Hey Kaneki…”_

_“Touka! I thought you went out for dinner…?”_

_“I did—and I came back. It’s almost eleven.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“Look, I know how important the performance is to you, but you got to eat, too. Why are you so worked up about this production? It’s not like the first one you’ve been in.”_

_“Well, my music teacher was a huge,_ huge  _fan of the play. Hell, he might’ve wanted to train a Christine Daaé of his own.”_

_“Hm. Sounds shady. What’s his name?”_

_“Yeah, he is—only ever came around when mum was away. I don’t actually remember his name…”_

_“Must’ve been a strange guy…Still, I brought food. Want some?”_

_“Yeah, thanks.”_

 

* * *

iii) Little Lotte

The overly opulent dressing room, courtesy of the building’s heritage, was largely deserted now; maybe two, maybe three understudies...

“I haven’t seen you for some time now, you know!”

And Hide. Of course.

Groaning, Kaneki swiveled the chair to face his best friend. “I just saw you five hours ago,” he pointed out. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, mischief sparking. “Were you going to invite me to dinner or something? Picking up method acting?”

Hide rose, arms spread wide, and grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Of course. I am the great Viscount—”

“Vimcomte. Paris, remember.”

“Fine, fine. Vimcomte Raoul de Chagny! I am rich and pretentious and two-dimentional! Fall into my arms, Christine!”

 Despite himself, the dark haired boy laughed, rising to punch the other in the shoulder. “Oh god, you don’t have the right to speak. It’s not like  _you_ haven’t played a girl’s role before.”

“Well, I don’t have the right damsel in distress face for it. You, on the other hand…” Hide paused, letting the sentence dangle in the air with the gravity of a thousand unsaid words.

His only response from his counterpart: “You ass.”

 

* * *

iv) The Mirror

Kaneki all but collapsed into a comfortable armchair, and frowned. Flowers generally didn’t get sent to his room mmediately. Unless—

Oh. That note. Smehow ending up in his room on the night of the premiere:

 

> _How much do you love the theatre?_
> 
> _\- G_

He groaned as he remembered the reply; it was written after a giddy opening night, but still.  Even for a mildly intoxicated letter, it had been uncharacteristically forward.

 

> _Thank you for the flowers, but they aren’t the best thing for hay fever. Maybe you should save your money for theatre tickets?_
> 
>                                                                                                              _\- Kaneki Ken_

Nothing compared to the weird—and mildly creepy—reply, slipped into, of all things, the dressing room mirror.

 

> _Ah sweet Christine, I have watched over your nebulous star since it first started to glow, on this very stage._
> 
> _\- G_

And the only possible answer was:  

 

> _Mysterious patron of mine: my name’s Kaneki Ken. I_ play _Christine. Are you alright?_
> 
>                                                                                                              _\- Kaneki Ken_

He’d not received anything since them—but the flowers kept arriving. Every night, without fail. That is, until: 

 

> _Come to the back alley, tonight. Congratulations are in order._
> 
> _\- G_

 

* * *

v) The Phantom of the Opera

_“You’re awfully unimpressive for a man so wealthy as to send fresh flowers every day.”_

Tsukiyama froze as that voice--which unfortunately had captivated the man, bound him--sounded clear and almost obscenely loud in the back alley. In truth, of everything the elder man had expected—he hadn’t expected such a calm reaction. His mask marked him as either hideously deformed—or a ghoul; and to an ordinary human like his current fascination, both should’ve been the stuff of nightmares.

He’d caught a strange one, indeed.

 

* * *

vi) The Music of the Night

_“Wait—so you’re the same actor that I’ve been acting with every night? The mysterious Erik, the Phantom that people keep sending endless bouquets too?_

_“Why yes!”_

_“And what’s to stop me from telling the world?”_

_“Ah but you wont. You can’t. Call it what you may—but you know that you will inevitably, irrepressibly—be drawn to me.”_

 

* * *

vii) I Remember…

 A DREAM: 

 

> _My child…you shouldn’t have been born. Tragedy is the only possible way, for someone as caught between the worlds as you are, can ever thrive. You won’t remember_ any  _of this._
> 
> _Or that is what I sincerely hope. Else…your father might pay a visit and only god may save our souls then._

 

* * *

viii) Stranger Than You Dreamt It

“Why me? Why not any other opera singer?”

The anger in that  _voice_ —more than ever, the older man felt himself drawn to the young tenor singer. Tsukiyama hummed, a hand brushing over his half-mask as if to reassure himself that it was still there; it kept the worse traces of the back alley’s stink away, ant the heady scent of the other boy covered the rest.

“To… _taste_ you.” Dear god, he smelled good.

“…You’ve gone  _mad_. I won’t hear any of this,” the target of his interest snapped, folding his arms. A strange, and somehow fitting, bravado was clear in his voice; so he wasn’t  _stupid_. That was good to know. Mental acuity certainly did make everything taste better— Except that wasn’t what Tsukiyama was here for, after all. He’d almost forgotten. Shaking his head, he raised a question; one that didn't so much need an answer as proclaimed its truth. “What am I?” he asked, circling the other boy, and blocking out the scene from the casual passerby. Wouldn't want to get hunted down, after all.

“A ghoul,” Kaneki answered, voice flat. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure that much out.”

“Good, good. And what are  _you?_ ”

“Human!” the other snapped, with a ferocity that only heightened the elder man’s appreciation.

“Liar~” Tsukiyama sang, and shook his head. “You don’t think that would’ve fooled me?”

“Well, I don't know what you want for an answer, but I’ve never eaten any—anything  _you_ would eat.”  _Monster_ , was the unsaid accusation, and the younger boy’s fists bunched in agitation. 

 “The drive to eat flesh makes you a _ghoul_ , silly child. And well—although you mother may have been no more than a common worker, your father...well, that’s a different matter,” Tsukiyama declared, with all the drama of a trained actor.

Struck a nerve there, he would’ve thought; but the younger boy only shook his head, backing away. “Well." Kaneki paused, before deciding to stand his ground. Something incomprehensible sparked, there, and Tsukiyama felt himself leaning forwards, drawn towards the other. "Well, I’m not. I’ll call the police on you.”

“Ah, but  _I—_ I am the only one that knows you for who you are, Kaneki Ken. Now go, back to your little play. Your little existence, playing house with the mice—even when it’s clearly not  _enough_  for you,” he drawled. Despite himself, he couldn't keep the taste of bitterness away. The only thing which gave him satisfaction was the certainty that the dark-haired singer would almost unfailingly concede his point. The younger boy wouldn’t admit it yet, or perhaps ever, but Tsukiyama was patient. He could wait.

“Just—just go away for now. I’ll…think about it. Alright? Now go,  _go_.”

 

* * *

ix) Magical Lasso

_“Our very own mysterious patron! Fancy that; looks like the play is cursed, after all.”_

_“…Sir manager. You called?”_

_“So, Mr. Stagehand. You’ve been here—no need to be so stiff, man, here, sit, do sit— since the building was erected; ever heard of this “Phantom” who seems to have confused fantasy and stone cold reality?”_

_“Ah, I heard a story. Of course, I can’t say how true it is, but then—“_

_“Tell us, tell us! All the better to break the illusion Mr. Phantom has tried to pull over our eyes.”_

_“Have you ever heard of ghouls, sir?”_

_“Aren’t they a children’s fairytale, meant to explain the various…degenerations of the nobility?”_

_"The Phantom is said to be a ghoul, sir. A mask like a half-moon and a face like a devil’s, his voice is finer than any other—but his soul is rotten, darker than his heritage, darker than his nature."_

_"Ah?"_

_"Yes, yes."_

_"And what does this Phantom want?"_

_"Sir manager, that—only God would know."_

 

* * *

x) Notes… 

_“Hide. What if I told you that there was a man in the production that wants to sabotage everything, kidnap me, and murder half the cast to get to it?”_

_“Wow, that method acting book sounds really…interesting. Lend it to me?”_

_“It sure is. And of course not!”_

 

* * *

xi) Prima Donna

 

> _I thought it—I merely thought it poetic, dramatic—you do love the theater, do you not?—that I should take the role of the phantom. Think of it as a personal favour. After all: You can’t hide from you heritage forever. Undoubtedly. Know that I will forever extend the offer: come and I will teach you how to_ live _. Not merely survive, as you are, now._
> 
> _\- G_

 

* * *

xii) Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh

  _“Wow, have you heard the latest? Apparently they’re auctioning off the original costumes of the Phantom of the Opera premiere—and they found actual bloodstains on the dresses!”_

 

* * *

xiii) Why Have You Brought Me Here/Raoul, I’ve Been There.

Hide looked up from his close examination of the floor, shaking his head. “Sorry, Kaneki, but it’s been too long. Somebody walked over it, and then a horse cart went through here, and the only thing I can find is straw. No fabric, no nothing. Why, what did the guy tell you?” He arched a brow. “You seem…off.”

“The guy, the guy—the guy you’re talking about is the same actor playing the phantom. Right next to you on stage, I might remind you.” Despite himself, Kaneki knew that his voice was getting higher and higher with the panic, and the memory of what the familiar stranger had told him. “Don’t you want to know if he was planning on eating us all?”

“Did he tell you that?” Incredulity coloured Hide’s voice, and, chuckling, he stood up. “That’s surprisingly honest of him.”

“No he just—he just talked about ghouls. He said I’m one. I’m  _not_ one.” Kaneki’s eyes widened and he shook his head fervently. “You don’t believe him, do you?”

“It depends.”

 

* * *

xiv) All I Ask Of You

_“Let’s go on a holiday.”_

_"_ _Yes, lets. We don’t need the money from this theater anyways.”_

_“Well, we do but—”_

_"Scheduled holiday? We all know what happened to Christine Daaé and Raoul, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t wanna buy a toy monkey when I’m in my eighties. First, they’re creepy. Second, that would just be—sad.”_

_“True.”_

For a moment, Kaneki wondered what it would’ve been like to accept the ghoul’s offer; maybe that would cure him of the ever-present hunger gnawing away at his insides. Maybe it would’ve been easier.

" _So, what  do you say?”_

Thank god for Hide.

_“Hm. Sounds good.”_

 

* * *

xv) All I Ask Of You (Reprise) 

 **Disappointment** ; that was the first. Bitter, the desire for a peer—one that would appreciate the fine arts, somebody his equal—had been ever-present in the ghoul’s mind. Blood and gore was all very good, but it never changed. His fellows were—crude, in a sense.

 **Annoyance** ; that was the second. Although perhaps that was his own fault; the production of the Phantom had never been kind to the monster in question. And who knew his target had a childhood friend, even?

Dramatic irony, at its very,  _very_  best. 

And who knew what the third was? After all, Tsukiyama Shuu had never been the spurned lover. And he never intended to be.

He was patient; he could wait; or at least that was what he told himself. And as for Kaneki Ken’s little play at humanity, at being so much less than he was—a lion masquerading as a rat, really—it would all fall. Whether that was into place, or apart, the flamboyantly dressed man couldn’t say.

But still: the younger man simply wouldn’t be able to–help himself.

 Eventually.                                                                                        

 

**Author's Note:**

> The only adaptation of the Phantom of the Opera I’ve seen is the musical; thus the structure of this fic is laid out to mirror it. In this, the characters of Tokyo Ghoul are a troupe playing the POTO characters, so it’s the story of a play in a play. Yay. 
> 
> Gift for fudanshi-kun/backwardElagabalus! :) I hope it's alright. I ran out of time a bit, so some sections are a little...strange. And I'm not quite sure what you had in mind from the prompt so I did a mix. But MERRY CHRISTMAS. I HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR DAY.


End file.
